


To Think About the Weather

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-07
Updated: 2004-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-30 10:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15094478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Sometimes, CJ wishes she could just disappear





	To Think About the Weather

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  


**To Think About the Weather**

**by:** keladryb

**Character(s):** CJ  
**Pairing(s):** None  
**Category(s):** Angst, Drama  
**Rating:** YTEEN **Disclaimer:** I don't own them.  If I did, I'd be rich.  
**Summary:** Sometimes, CJ wishes she could just disappear.  
**Spoiler:** None  
**Written:** May, 2004  
**Feedback:** Cherished.

She wants to disappear, sometimes. She used to try, but she gave up on that all those months ago when she was running the length of the mall, and that damn kid from Georgetown caught up with her and asked for her fucking autograph. It was almost midnight, and that damn kid was asking for her autograph like it was two in the afternoon back in L.A. and she was Julia Fucking Roberts. That's when she knew: she could never disappear, not in Washington. 

Still, she thinks about disappearing often. It's not the days you might expect. She's okay on the bad days, usually so full of adrenaline that she forgets that she wants to be invisible. No, it's the good days, after things are calm and she's talking about the First Lady's shoes or the what wine they'll be drinking with dinner. It's the days when everything's going right and she remembers herself. 

This is one of those days. The world is at peace, or rather, no one in the press cares that it's not, because the U.S. isn't about to do anything about poverty in Haiti or the brutal torment of women in Qumar. The President's at Camp David with Abbey and the girls--he even convinced Ellie to come. It's Friday night and the last briefing went by so smoothly she can't remember what she said. Josh is already gone, and Donna's heading out. Toby's off to spend a weekend with the twins. She sent Carol home an hour ago, and she's alone. At least, as alone as anyone ever is, in the White House. She lets herself sink further into her chair, turns off the TVs, and closes her eyes. This is one of those days. 

She focuses on breathing. That's the trick, really. In and out. Out and in. Like her junior high French teacher all those years ago when the class was rowdy. _Inspirer, expirer. Inspirer._ The harsh bite of the air conditioner turned up too high. _Expirer._ Forgotten meals, unreturned eMails, missed phone calls. _Inspirer._ The flowers someone sent to Carol that she forgot to take home for the weekend. _Expirer._ Her name, called over and over and over again. _Inspirer._ The dust that's permanently settled onto her couch, since she pissed off a janitor six months ago. _Expirer._ Everyone else's world crumbling around her while she tries to pick up the pieces. 

She's tired of holding everyone else together, because she has no time for herself anymore. An hour a day, if that. An hour to reflect on her father's health, her mother's death, her niece's college admissions, her brothers' latest gripe. An hour a day, and she spends it on them. She remembers lounging by her pool, back in California, spending hours thinking about nothing but the weather. Now, she wishes she'd spent that time in self-reflection. She can't go back, of course, but usually, when she thinks of disappearing, she wants to be sitting by a pool somewhere with the sun shining down on her bare skin. 

She wasn't happy then, not by any stretch, but she had time to wallow in her unhappiness, and time to forget how miserable she was. Time to lounge by the pool and think about the weather. And perhaps that's what bothers her about the little down time she does have. It's not that she can't reflect on the weather: it's that she's forgotten how. Somewhere between the first campaign and the second inauguration, her entire life seemed to become the Bartlet Administration, and she's not sure how to salvage a piece for herself anymore. 

She used to try, she remembers. She used to work out, used to jog, used to take her niece out for lunch and go shopping for prom dresses. She used to date, used to steal kisses from Danny, or Tad, and even from Simon, once. Simon. That's when the desire to disappear started, really. Back when he was always on her tail, back when she couldn't shake him, back when she stopped wanting to. 

And then he was gone, and for a moment, she thought she was invisible. But, of course, she wasn't, because then the cameras were in her face and the press was calling _C.J., C.J., C.J...._ And Toby and Ron tried to comfort her, but men are no good at that kind of thing, and she brushed them away and sat in her New York hotel room and cried, but only for a minute, because she had to brush her tears away, had to go back to Washington and the cameras and everyone else's problems. 

Sometimes, she wishes she could just break down, but that's a luxury she can't afford, so she wants to disappear, instead. 


End file.
